media for the mind

In the wake of the tragic shooting in Charleston, South Carolina, the issue of the Confederate flag came to the forefront of our discussions on race. I’ve never felt comfortable with the flag as a symbol because of its past history and present reality of being used for hatred and intimidation. However, I found myself feeling somewhat frustrated by news coverage that seemed to suggest that the Confederate flag means racism, and therefore racism solely comes out of the South.

I was born and raised a Yankee, but have lived in North Carolina for nearly 10 years now. I have news for everyone: hate and ignorance exists everywhere. I think the Confederate flag is just an easy symbol for us to point to that represents both an unhealthy dose of hate and ignorance. By this point, though, everyone should be realizing that the symbol means hate to some, and therefore, out of respect for those people, it should not be flown. That being said, the right to fly it falls under the right to free speech. So now it is a waiting game as hearts and minds change and voices speak out to demand those changes.

This week, I saw that hope for change in a story that I haven’t been seeing get too much fanfare in the media. The state flag of Mississippi still shows the Confederate symbol proudly waving in the upper left hand corner of their flag. But this past Monday morning at Ole Miss, the state flag was lowered on the campus.

Ole Miss is the school where Governor Ross Barnett attempted to block the entrance of its first black student, James Meredith, in 1962, using the same language of heritage we hear today in his “I love Mississippi” speech. When Mr. Meredith finally made it onto campus in his fourth attempt, he was guarded by US Marshals. A riot broke out, in which two men were killed and 166 US Marshals and 40 National Guardsmen were injured.

Recent history has been much brighter for Ole Miss. In 2002, the school commemorated the the 40th Anniversary of the desegregation of the school, unveiling a memorial. The following year, James Meredith’s son Joseph graduated as the top doctoral student at the University’s business school. In 2008, Ole Miss hosted the very first Presidential debate between John McCain and our soon-to-be first black President, Barack Obama.

Today, students of color represent twenty-five percent of the population. Ole Miss’ students come from 93 different countries around the world. Yet, it is still truly a state school, with 61% of students from the state of Mississippi. This diverse group banded together to pass a resolution to have the state flag removed from its campus. The school has now seen another huge step towards progress.

Although current governor Phil Bryant still does not support the decision, the students have taken action to seek a change that has been a long time coming. It gives me great hope to see young people valuing equality and respect for their fellow classmates. There are still an incredible amount of changes that need to be made to make our country a place that is equal for all, but I think we need to take the time to praise a step in the right direction. Removing a flag does not remove hate, but it sends a signal that these symbols and ideals aren’t acceptable anymore. The message of the removal means more to me than the removal of the flag itself.

I still don’t think change is fast enough, but that sense of urgency will keep us moving forward as we deal with these very old and entrenched wounds as well as the very real and continuingly inflicted ones.

I think this also represents that not all Southerners are the stereotype that the mass media tends to portray. Every place is full of individuals. Some of those individuals are going to continue to support hate, but the rest of us– our voices need to be louder and clearer.

If we make race a Southern problem, we are pigeonholing the issue and losing sight of a pain that is afflicting this entire nation.

I’m proud of the students at Ole Miss, and I’m proud of the institution for turning one small tide to help make this respected institution a place where everyone feels welcomed. Let’s all support and encourage change, demand more of it, and praise it when we see it. Thank you, Ole Miss. You’ve given me just the glimmer of hope I needed this week in these challenging times.

Below are a few pieces I’ve written recently. They’re loosely edited. Rough cut off the bone. The seasons and hopefully the times are a’changin.

Fair warning: Language in the third poem is pretty heavy.

Joaquin

The cool night airDrizzles sweat on my furrowed browAs we are warned of impending floodsAnd ultimate doomYour fingers play hop scotchAcross the medium stringsNever strong enough for your heavy handsAsk the universe and you shall receive Is the mantra you say that I wish would always work for meTrapped in my own multipotentiality behind the heavy keys of a day jobthat could almost pay all the billsExcept life’s too sweet to miss it on the shit side While my windswept tears leave me on the dark side Of space and dimesLeft face upOn the sills of the window of this future Your dreams too abruptTo imagine a day where all faith becomes sound and my lips Move quickly not pursed on the groundOf your ragged ass old white wet feetYour heart is in the desire of the soul that you meetTo greet your everlasting fateAs you sit there twiddling thumbs of the soul that waits for guidance from the bleak skies above The only meaning I could ever find in life was loveEnough Is enough you sayAnd that’s all rightThere’s a feeling in the air thatWe won’t biteAs we guide you through the matters unknown Cast all your fears aliveAnd mark your heart in stoneCause your naïveté isn’t cute any more Your ignorance ignores what we’re all in forAs we step so timidly upon this precarious precipice To days anew and songs unsung All you got to say is what I’ve left undone

Fall

Sometimes it’s the sleep you didn’t get that can make you too depressedAs the cold winds of winter are ushered in We tell ourselves spring will spring again soon enoughAnd our says of snuggles and cuddles beneath these coversMeals of hot soupThe hope for a snow that strands us inside in each other’s armsAre just enough to bite the bitterOf the changing seasons Every so slightly enoughTo mean survival and solaceAs we forget the days we’ve wasted away on cigarettes and numbersThese are just the few vices and devices to distract fromThe pending futureWhere we’ll skip in the sunshineAnd get out our special tweety bird towelsFor the possibility of sitting on the beachStaring at the ocean we miss every dayWe’ll start saving the pennies and quarters found on this dirty floorSave up for the hope of what next summer may have in store

Awaken Your Life

By all means necessaryWe stand at the forefront of the revolution Don’t let it be scaryWhere your feet can’t move whenYour ass in your seat Your only activism happens behind the keys While you sit on your throne of privilege making Assumptions of what you think I meanWhen I tell you this life is aboutRespectAnd we can’t move forward unless we have regretWhere the sunshine smilesWhen the babies dance In these streetsKnowing it’s just fine for you to do you and me be meYour fun won’t last if you do the mathThe scores of whores and bores and more more more Leave you in a deficitI’m not an accountant But I’ll still try to tell you this shit while you sink right in to the consumptionAnd yet you still have the gumption To smile at me when you look at my assLike we’re old time friends And I’ll tell you to smack your damn self in the faceYou should be ashamed For being so fucking vainAnd no this song ain’t about youYou don’t deserve itCause you’re just every other Douche I meet every dayFuck your systemBut don’t fuck meI’ll sit back and laughWhile you jerk offJerk off, what you thinking?Tellin lies about these womenNo I’m not talking about the waking lifeBut the life I wake inAbout this life of strifeWhere I got to treatEvery motherfuckin dick with suspicion Cause my mama always told me to trust my intuitionBut this isn’t just some feminaziBullshitBecause they’re still good men out thereYou gotta learn to love yourself Before you start spreadin all your love around to someone elseSome stranger who gives you the validationWomen– you’re the mothers of this whole fucking nationNever forgetAnd always rememberWhen the nights get longIn mid DecemberThat Mary made your Jesus Christ And god wasn’t a manthat was just another literary deviceTo explain what we all knowIs unknown To bury ourselves in another tombFor three very long days to say the leastBecause we haven’t found this shit yetWe haven’t made our peace Your screams will be silencedIn the cold dark nightAs long as you keep getting yourselves distracted By the wrong fucking fightBecause the powers that beDon’t want you to ever believe thatWe’re capable of coming togetherThat anyone will ever be listeningDon’t lose your voiceBut don’t misuse it eitherWhen it’s all said and doneI got the fuckin fever To take what’s important What’s rightfully mineTo leave you motherfuckers behindAnd turn down the shine on my prideMaintain the hope that there’s stillCommunityCause unless you misheard meWithin that word contains unity Yet you’ve so quickly forgottenWhen you pick up your pitchforks That the whole world is burning

This morning, I woke up in my typical fashion: late and grumpy. I put on my blue jeans for dress down Friday and headed for my 9 to 5. My crazy hair cared about as much as the Florida driver in front of me cared about the speed limit. I sat at a desk for 8 hours. I ate an unreasonably large burrito at lunch. In all likelihood, in a week or two I won’t remember what I did today, what I wore, or where I was. My day has been unremarkable. You probably won’t remember today either.

In fact, I almost forgot it was The Eleventh. Almost. I almost forgot sitting in second period 7th grade art class with Ms. Sterling. At first it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. Wow! A plane hit the World Trade Center. I wondered where my Uncle Jim, a pilot, was flying that day. I remembered visiting the towers when I was a little girl with my dad. I look up from my piss-poor painting to see another plane hitting the second tower. By this time, the teachers are frantically running around to different classrooms. They’re telling everyone to turn off the TVs, knowing full well they can’t really shield the helmet generation from this trauma. But we aren’t children. Not anymore at least.

My little cousins are in the same generation as I am. They’re now between the ages of eight and sixteen. But they don’t know the world before The Eleventh like I do. The oldest was 3 and the others were not even conceived. I think a lot about the world as they’ll never understand it, especially today. Have they ever had a moment in their lives where they could ask anyone they knew and that person could tell them EXACTLY what they were doing that day? Will I ever have a moment like this again?

The Eleventh shaped my adolescence. I was twelve years old when the towers collapsed, the Pentagon burned, and Flight 93 made a big hole just outside my Uncle Bud’s backyard. He said he was shaving when it happened and that the “explosion” was so big it shook the mirror. So much more was shaken that day. Being twelve is already a tenuous time. My body was changing, but so was my country.

Our idea of what it means to be “American” shifted dramatically. We were suddenly very proud. We became “us” and they became “them.” I don’t remember ever evaluating what it meant to be an American until I was sitting in a packed stadium a few months after The Eleventh, looking around at the crowd as they loudly sung, “Proud to be an American.” The truest American pride I had seen in someone else was in my great-grandfather, Pop, a World War II veteran who signed up for the service when he heard about Pearl Harbor. The Eleventh would become our Pearl Harbor. But, with a television blaring in every living room, the experience seemed even more real, or surreal. I suppose I’d been taking my freedom for granted.

The world wasn’t safe anymore. We were worried about anthrax in our mailboxes and if someone was going to try to bomb the shopping mall while we bought our training bras. Yellow ribbons graced every other tree in my suburban neighborhood. We would soon be asking, “Whose side are you on?” Everyone was a suspect, especially if your skin was the wrong shade of brown or your religion wasn’t Judeo-Christian, or your first language wasn’t English. Security meant never feeling secure. Freedom meant sacrificing personal liberty for the sake of the whole. The fear is constant. Fourteen years later, that feeling has faded somewhat, but remains ever-present. It doesn’t seem to matter whether or not these fears are legitimate, but they’re fed to us like pills in our applesauce. We don’t want another Eleventh.

Whether or not you wanted to get the terrorists or you were frantically searching for a means to peace amidst the turmoil, we all knew, in an unspoken way, that our worlds would never be the same. We learned, in a span of a few hours on a just-like-every-other-Tuesday morning, that everything can change at any time for any reason or no reason at all.

The Eleventh was also the prequel to war. They had to get somebody for doing this to us. I wasn’t sure who, but I knew it was coming. The Eleventh meant the war of our generation was starting. We didn’t even know it, sitting our desks, that our classmates, these children, would grow up to fight for this country because of this day. So while we were wondering if it was time to start wearing deodorant in gym class, we were contemplating the elusive dangers of “terrorism.” Our answers were different from each other, but our worlds were the same. They were the same in that they would never be the same again.

Today, I can’t begin to explain to a 12-year-old what the world felt like before The Eleventh. I can hardly articulate it to myself or with these very words. Kids these days will hear about it on the news once a year and probably read about it in history class. There was one day that changed us. There was one day that derailed the train, only to be put back on an entirely different track than we could have possibly imagined. We live with the consequences and the loss each day. The gravity of that experience is inexplicable to the pre-teen playing Taylor Swift on her iPhone while it’s being monitored by the NSA.

At first when I turned on the radio this morning, I thought to myself, “I’m tired of hearing about this.” Then it all came back to me as I heard the quivering voices of the morning callers, my generation, talking about what will always be one of the most significant events in our lives. I heard the bells ring to commemorate each tragedy as the morning progressed.

I felt just like that 12 year old girl again–scared, confused, and totally oblivious as to what will happen next. I only tire of hearing about the Eleventh because sometimes I’m tired of remembering it. Sharing our “where were you?” stories is our own form of collective group therapy for a nation and a generation that still has an unbelievable amount of healing to do. I couldn’t forget the Eleventh even if I wanted to.

If you’re anything like me, you’ve probably found yourself getting pretty frustrated lately by all things in the news that make it appear that we are a society divided. I think it’s a positive thing that we’re talking openly about issues of race, sex, gender and sexual orientation. To me, one of the most beautiful things about this world is that we’re all different. What a boring place we’d be in if we were all the same!

One of the ugliest things about our world shows when we see hate and division based on these arbitrary lines and categories we put ourselves and each other in. I wish we could just pretend these things don’t exist. I really wish there was such a thing as being “color-blind,” but there isn’t. I’ve seen some very wonderful progress we’ve been making, but the progress needs to be faster. We need to be more aggressive about it. Sometimes it just seems like we should throw our hands up in the air. “The world’s ALWAYS going to be screwed up.” But here’s the thing: I’m tired of talking about the problems. I want to be about the solution. You can either be ignorant of the issues or be miserable because of them.

But, there’s a third option: you can do something about them. I know what you’re thinking, “How could little ol’ me fix these HUGE problems? Nothing I will ever do will matter.” And you’re probably right. IF, and only if, you were the only person who cared, the only person who did something, nothing would ever get better. Great news! You’re not! You can connect with others in your community. Plus, thanks to Al Gore, the internet allows us to connect with people around the world. I’m not an expert. And I know the world’s screwed up. I’m tired of doing nothing about it. I’m here to offer some small steps of things you can actually do. YES actually do- this isn’t like making one of those rainbow cakes on Pinterest. Having an electric life doesn’t mean just doing what you do in your own little bubble, it means lighting up the world. So let’s get started.

Step One:

IF YOU SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING

No, this slogan isn’t just for terrorists anymore. It is a mantra for you to live your Electric Life by. It may sound silly, and it may sound small. Or to you, it may just sound obvious. But the reason that I know it is important and not really that obvious is that I’m completely shocked by how often people see something and say nothing.

You know that guy. And chances are, you’ve been that guy. You’re in a group of people and someone says something that’s uncomfortable. It’s probably just a side comment. And you could probably just brush it off. You might wince when you hear it. You know you’ve just heard something racist or sexist, anti-gay, etc.

This probably doesn’t happen that often when you’re in front of the people that are a part of the group they’re referring to. It can be as simple as “Well you know how (insert minority group)s are.” But how often do you say “No, I don’t. How are THEY?” I know I don’t do it all the time. And I know I do it the least when it comes to things I hear about women. I’m much more comfortable calling people out when I feel like I’m defending someone else instead of myself. That’s the trouble with being in one of these groups. A lot of times, it’s just you. Last week at work when someone told me that I would be distracting because I’m a “pretty girl” instead of respected as an accounting professional WOMAN doing my job, I stayed silent.

But you know what would have been great? If someone had my back. If the other man who witnessed the conversation stepped up and said something as simple as “we really appreciate your hard work and skills,” the guy who made the comment would have instantly seen the error of his ways. We wouldn’t have to discuss it. The point is, if we have allies out this sometimes nasty world, it will make us all feel a whole lot better.

You have the responsibility to say something when you hear someone talking this way, otherwise you’re agreeing with them with your silence. I honestly think there are many “good” people who are just scared. I’m not sure what we’re so scared of. Nine times out of ten the person’s response when you call them out is probably going to be them being embarrassed. Just like peer pressure has proven the best way to get kids to start smoking, it’s also turning out to be the best way to get them to not start in the first place. The same principle applies here. Nobody should feel safe spreading their hate.

All it takes us “good” people to stop the few bad apples in their tracks. We aren’t going to be able to change everyone’s minds, but you need to make it clear to people that you won’t tolerate ignorance and hate. If you lose friends over it, well, were those really kind of friends you wanted in the first place? I know I’ve learned that lesson several times over. I’ll be the last person to say I always follow this rule. I’m still not sure what that little fear comes from that stops us from doing what we know is right. If you have a story of saying something and what happened when you did, I’d love to hear it and share if you’d allow me. Let’s work together on this. Together, our power is real and it’s net effect could be world-changing.